Losing Control
by keithgardenerxx
Summary: In this one shot fic, Danny's really upset about his Dad leaving his mum, and he turns to self harm. Harry and the others are always there for him though. Danny's POV. It's mainly Junes, no slash though, just Harry being really supportive and lovely, because he just is. Warnings: Self harm, Depression, Alcohol, Swearing.


I was stretched out on my bed, hands under my head, gazing up at the ceiling. Lately, I couldn't shake the feeling that nothing was right. I hated the songs we were working on, hated the cover art for the album, above all, I hated my Dad. Hated him for leaving my mum and my sister, and now, all they had was me for support, and I was lucky if I got to drop in once a month. Last time I went, my mum looked dead behind the eyes, and nothing had been touched, all his stuff was still there, toothbrush in the mug, book on the bedside table. It was creepy. I wished he could have just given us some warning, instead of one day disappearing and leaving a terse note. I wanted him to explain. For all these reasons, I was in a bad mood. I felt like I just couldn't get excited about anything, couldn't say what I needed to say in a song, couldn't talk to anyone. I was locked in this little bubble of misery, wishing I was anywhere else in the world. The guys had been really supportive, and I wish I had taken advantage of that, but I'd said I was fine, just fine, he was a bastard anyway. Gradually, they believed me. I was tough, or so they thought, I'd be fine. Except I wasn't, though I didn't know why. I was wandering around with a fake smile plastered to my face, hyperactive and silly, trying to convince everyone of how strong I was, that I didn't care.  
"Danny! Come and have some pizza!" Dougie's voice called from downstairs. I wanted to stay where I was, but then they would twig something was up. I hauled myself up, hitching my brightest smile onto my face, and went downstairs. They were all lounging on the sofa, two boxes of pizza on the table.  
"What were you doing up there?" Tom asked, shuffling over on the sofa to make room for me.  
"Oh you know, just listening to music." I flashed him a grin.  
"You were very quiet." Harry said.  
"IPod." I flopped down next to Tom, picking up a slice of pizza.  
"What've you lot been up to?" I asked them, picking at the pizza.  
"Watching Star Wars." Dougie was monosyllabic most of the time, I envied him. If you were Dougie, no one noticed if you were being quiet.  
"Again? You must've seen it about eighty times!" I griped. I'd never understood the fascination Tom and Dougie seemed to share with that film. To me, it just wasn't even close to true, so what was the point?  
"I was working on that drum break in the new song." Harry said, rolling his eyes. He hated Star Wars too. He never watched much TV, apart from the Ashes, and mostly worked in the studio. No one loved music like Harry. Maybe I had, once upon a time. I copied the others, shoving pizza down my throat, though I couldn't really be bothered. They laughed and joked and I occasionally interjected with a laugh or comment. Most of the time I wasn't listening, but sat silently stewing about my Dad. I talked enough so they wouldn't suspect anything, no more than that. After we finished eating, Harry pulled a bottle from the cupboard. Tequila. My heart leapt at the sight of it. My golden ticket into a world where no one could hurt me.  
"Suicide shots!" He grinned devilishly, slamming four shot glasses on the counter. Tom sighed and sloped upstairs; he never did shots, never drank much at all. Harry put one away, and went off to get lemons and chili sauce. Me and Dougie sat in comfortable silence. It was one of my favourite things about him, that you could sit in silence without feeling like you had to say anything. He had a companionable presence, sort of like a Labrador. If I ever needed to talk to anyone about something, I picked Dougie. Harry got too worked up, and Tom was unpredictable about some things. Dougie was a safe harbour, and he always had some kind of advice or solution to my problems. I wanted to talk to him now, I really did, but I felt like I just...couldn't. Harry came back, stuff in his arms, and set it all down on the table in front of us.  
We got absolutely wasted, and I felt my troubles fading away, until I'd forgotten why I'd worried in the first place. At around 1 in the morning, we stumbled upstairs. There in the dark, I felt everything come flooding back. My happy hazy booze cloud had crash landed. I choked back a sob. I didn't cry like a girl for fucks sake. I wasn't GOING to. Clumsily, I pulled a penknife out of my drawer. I sat on the bed with it, raking the blade up my arms, again and again. It hurt so much, but it felt great. It felt like I was letting go of the misery with every cut. Finally I stopped for a second. Oh my god. What had I done? My arms were oozing blood, and there were layers of cuts up and down my arms. They were a bloody mess, literally. I mopped them up a bit with a tissue. Shit. Right, I would just wear long sleeves tomorrow. No one would notice what I'd done, no awkward questions or funny looks from the guys. It'd all be fine. I put the bloody knife away, and drifted off to sleep.  
"Danny, wake up! C'mon mate we're going to be late!" Harry called. I moaned sleepily and he walked in, laughing at the sight of me.  
"Jesus Dan, you look awful. Bit much to drink eh?" He smirked. I sat up in bed, raking my hands through my hair, which was in my eyes. I heard Harry gasp. Hang on, what? What was it?  
"What Harry?" I mumbled sleepily. "You okay?"  
"DANNY. Your ARMS..." His eyes were wide, and he looked a bit sick. I looked at my arms. Oh god. There was dried blood caked all over my wrists and the cuts I'd made last night looked even more horrific in daylight. Harry came and sat down on the bed next to me, gently taking hold of my arms and examining them.  
"You're going to need stitches Danny." He told me quietly. I nodded. I wasn't going to argue.  
"Why did you do it?" He asked, still looking at the angry red lines instead of at me. I didn't want to tell him, how much I'd been hurting, how weak I was. But I felt the pathetic tears welling up and spilling down my cheeks. Harry still had my arms, so I couldn't even wipe them away. He looked up at my face when I didn't answer, and folded me into a tight hug.  
"Shhhh Dan it's okay. We're going to sort it out. We'll talk to the others, and we'll decide what we should do now." He soothed me like I was a five year old who'd fallen off his bike. I was shaking with silent sobs, I didn't want the others to know, didn't want them to see me in this mess.  
"Don't tell the others Harry." I whispered. "Please."  
"I have to mate. You need some help, and you've got three people who care about you, and we're going to help you. Don't be scared, no ones going to judge you. We just want you to be happy." He told me this kindly, but firmly, and I knew there was no point in arguing. I wouldn't be able to stop him anyway. He gave me another hug, patting me on the back, and stood up.  
"I'm going to go and talk to them now, and they can get their heads around it a bit first, then I'll come back and get you, so we can all talk together. Do you want some breakfast first?" I shook my head, there was no way I could eat right now. It felt like once the facade of being fine was broken, I couldn't function properly at all. Now there was no reason to pretend. Harry nodded, smiled gently, and shut the door behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I was so pathetic. I'd worried everyone, just because I was idiot enough to cut myself. Why couldn't I keep a lid on my emotions like a real man? Why did I have to be such a wuss? I wasn't going to be able to handle them all staring at me like I was round the twist, scared I was going to jump out of the window if they took their eyes off me. Harry hadn't reacted like that, but who knew how Tom and Dougie would take it? Tom would be really worried. He was the big brother to us in so many ways. Dougie was a bit of an enigma. Who knew what his reaction would be. It felt like only seconds later that Harry reappeared, but my clock told me it was half an hour.  
"Ready Danny?" He asked. I'd gotten dressed since he'd been gone, and I nodded slowly.  
"Good. Do you feel okay? You've gone a bit white." He asked, frowning slightly.  
"No I'm fine." I said abruptly.  
"Sure?" I nodded vehemently.  
"Okay then, let's go." He said encouragingly. I followed him downstairs, and into the kitchen, where Dougie and Tom were sitting, looking a bit shell shocked. Harry gently pushed me down onto a stool.  
"Morning." I mumbled. It didn't seem like anyone else was going to say anything.  
"How bad is it?" Tom asked. The question was directed at Harry, not me. He reached over to me, and very lightly unbuttoned the sleeves of my shirt and peeled them up, revealing the deep slashes in my arms.  
"He's going to need stitches. I'll take him down to the hospital when we're done here." Harry told them. Tom's eyes widened, and his expression was almost comical shock. Dougie just went a bit pale, and looked down and the table, where his clenched fists were sitting.  
"Why did you do it Danny?" He said quietly. There was real pain in his voice, like it was hurting him that I was hurting myself.  
"You know...my dad, leaving." They all nodded, confused. "I thought I was handling it, just fine. I was kidding myself, but I didn't want any of you to know. I thought you'd think it was pathetic, to be so upset about it. So I just kept acting like everything was fine, but last night it kind of all got on top of me and I felt like I couldn't cope. Cutting myself was a spur of the moment thing, I promise it won't happen again." I finished in a rush of breath.  
"You mean you've been in this state for months? And you didn't say anything?" Tom said incredulously. I nodded, stupid tears forming yet again. I tried to blink them away, but I couldn't. I wiped my eyes furiously.  
"Oh Danny." It was Dougie who spoke this time, shaking his head. "We wouldn't have thought it was pathetic. Remember when my dad left? I just cried my eyes out for about two days, none of you cared, you were just there for me. Why would you think we wouldn't do that for you?" I didn't answer, just bit my lip to keep from sobbing.  
"Danny mate, it's fine to be upset when things go wrong. It's okay to cry." He told me. Simultaneously, he and Tom stood up, coming over to me. Harry joined them, and they all enveloped me in a huge hug. I started laughing, through the tears, and we stayed like that for ages, and I loved feeling the warmth of their bodies around me, like a protective little haven. Finally, they let me go.  
"Okay, I better take you down to the hospital. Actually, do normal doctors do stitches?"Harry wondered.  
"I think you can get those little surgical strips at the doctors." Tom told him.  
"Yeah, I'll take him there first, and get the doctor to have a look at him, and if he needs to go to the hospital we'll go." Harry decided. After Tom wangled me an early appointment, everyone got into Harry's car to come with me, nobody said anything, but Dougie and Tom seemed to have silently agreed that they wanted to be there. I was so grateful. I'd never thought they'd be so nice about it. I sat in the front next to Harry, and I was surprised at how easy it was to be with my friends now that they knew my painful secret. I thought it'd be so much harder. I didn't say that much, but nobody picked me up on it, they knew how I was feeling. When we got to the doctors, Dougie and Tom stayed in the waiting room. Harry came with me.  
The doctor examined the cuts, and agreed to clean and dress them. He said I'd be fine just with steri strips. He worked on my arm in silence for a moment, Harry holding my other hand. I didn't know why. Did he think the pain would bother me? I'd stuck the knife in my arm myself for fucks sake.  
"Do you cut yourself Danny?" The doctor asked gently. I hesitated.  
"Yes." I said softly. "I do." I'd finally said it out loud.  
"Okay. Would you like some help? I know a really good support group, they could chat to you about why you cut yourself. Or maybe I could refer you to a counsellor? Talk about whatever's on your mind? Danny, with self harm, dealing with it yourself is never the answer. You need support." He told me, kindly. I nodded, swallowing hard. I really didn't want to go to a support group, but maybe a counsellor would be a help?  
"Yeah. Yeah I'd like to see a counsellor. I need to talk about it, for a little while." I said firmly.  
"Great, Danny. That's really good. Accepting help is a good first step to stopping." He smiled at me. "There! You're all done." I looked down at my arms, bandaged and clean, looking far less gory than before.  
"Thankyou." I said sincerely.  
"Would you like an appointment with the counsellor tomorrow?" He asked.  
"That depends. What's on tomorrow Harry?" I looked at him.  
"Nothing for you mate, you're having a couple of days off. Compassionate leave." He told me.  
"That's a good idea. Will I book you in at ten then?" The doctor said, peeling off his bloody white gloves.  
"Yes please." I would see the counsellor tomorrow, at ten. That was fine. We joined Dougie and Tom outside.  
"Do you need stitches Dan?" Tom asked quietly. I shook my head. We left the surgery together. Harry's hand rested on my shoulder, and we got into his car. Dougie slid into the back beside me.  
"Show me Danny." He said gently. I pulled up my sleeve to reveal the white bandage.  
"Not much to see mate." I was glad of the bandage, but I knew that in time, it would come off to reveal my scars, marks of my idiocy. In time, everyone would see them. I couldn't wear long sleeves for the rest of my life.


End file.
